


Lost In The Stereo Sound

by AnonymousArchive



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Cashier Jack, First Meetings, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Music, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mixtape, Music, Music Store, One Shot, Pining, Pining Mark, Punk, Punk Rock, Septiplier - Freeform, Sweet, metal, record store, rock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:26:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousArchive/pseuds/AnonymousArchive
Summary: "The songs on the radio are okay, but my taste in music is your face." — Twenty One PilotsORMark visits the record store every weekend and it's not for the bands.





	Lost In The Stereo Sound

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while. I hope you guys still want some of these fanfics. I promise I'll come back to writing more often soon. Just after school stress winds down, yeah?

Mark didn't like metal. Or punk. Or rock.   
  
But he visited the record store on weekends anyway, pretending to be slightly interested in the CDs and vinyls arranged on racks when all he came to see was the green haired cashier.   
  
There was just something in him that Mark found interesting. Maybe it was the way he disconnected from the world as he lost himself in the tunes, drumming along on the countertop and bobbing his head to the rhythm of the songs he blasted through the shop's speakers. Maybe it was the contented look he wore as he stood behind the cash register, not an ounce of boredom displayed on his face. Maybe it was just the deep blue of his eyes, like an ocean that was deep enough to make him drown.   
  
Whatever it was the man had, it just really pulled Mark in.   
  
So there he was yet again, skimming through bands he didn't know of, stealing little glances towards the captivating stranger every now and then. This was his weekly weekend routine — standing around in this particular record store for more than just a few minutes, observing a particular cashier cutie with bright blue eyes. He didn't mind if the man of the day didn't notice his glances or his presence. As long as he was there during Saturdays and Sundays, unconsciously rocking out to the bands he loved, Mark's day would be complete.   
  
Although, as the weeks passed, he started getting sick of coming there unnoticed. He started getting tired of feeling invisible. Maybe a part of him just longed for a   
connection. Maybe he just wanted a simple conversation, some sort of interaction, or _anything_ that told him the man with fluorescent green hair knew he was there every damn weekend.   
  
The routine had to be changed. He knew he _needed_ him to know he existed.   
  
So he went and dyed his hair red, hoping the color would get the blue eyed man's attention. When that didn't work, he decided to wear muscle shirts, showing off his arms and maybe adding a hint of _metal_ into his appearance. When that still didn't work, he hoped standing a bit closer to the counter would change something. But still, the sick beats kept the man distracted, the table drumming and head banging never stopping.   
  
Still, the weekends passed with Mark going unnoticed.   
  
He was running out of options and ideas. He didn't know how to catch the other's eye anymore. Even if he covered his body in tattoos, or dyed his hair the brightest shade of pink, he knew that it would've amounted to nothing. He knew that he would still be invisible.   
  
Not unless he approached the green haired man directly.   
  
"Can I help ye, sir?" he smiled fondly as soon as he noticed the presence of the man before him, lowering the volume of the music as he replied, his voice cheerful and holding a characteristic lilt of an accent Mark couldn't quite place.   
  
"Yes actually," the American said, suddenly queasy and wishing that he'd thought this through a bit more. He should've grabbed a random album or something — he'd look less stupid if he did.   
  
"Well, what's up?"   
  
_Come on, Mark. Think._   
  
"Uh..."   
  
_Think of a question._   
  
"Do you... you have, uh..."   
  
_Something. Anything._   
  
"Any recommendations?"   
  
_Nice job, Fischbach! You did it._   
  
"Recommendations?" the blue eyed man, whose name is apparently _Jack_ (thank you nametags), repeated in clarification.   
  
"Yeah. Recommendations. I don't know a lot of bands so it would be nice for you to suggest some."   
  
"Hmm," Jack stood there, his eyebrows knit in thought, considering the American's request.   
  
"Ye, uh... do ye know any bands, though?"   
  
_Yeah, Mark. Do you actually know any?_   
  
"Well, there's... Green Day?"   
  
_That's right. Just mention that one band you remember from last week._   
  
"I actually am not the right man for this," Jack simply chuckled nervously in reply, anxiously rubbing a hand on his nape, "Although, I could lend ye some of my mixtapes?"   
  
"Mixtapes?" Mark questioned, learning more about the man with blue eyes in less than an hour.   
  
"Yeah. I make some. They aren't all that great but... they're a start, I guess?" he replied sheepishly, a faint red on his cheeks.   
  
"I'm sure they're lovely," the American reassured the man, a warm smile dancing on his face.   
  
"So that's a _yes_ to the mixtapes then?"   
  
"Mhm," Mark simply nodded.     
  
"Okay, wait here," the green haired man headed to the backroom, disappearing and leaving his eager customer alone for a second, just to resurface with three CDs in hand.   
  
"I actually have four of these, but the first one's playing right now," Jack commented bashfully as he carefully placed the CDs on the countertop.   
  
"Oh? They let you play your tapes?" Mark inquired curiously, a finger gesturing towards the speakers that sat on the corners of the room.   
  
"They might as well let me _entertain_ myself. Wouldn't be working here on weekends without the perks," the blue eyed man joked with a small headshake and an adorable chuckle.   
  
Mark smiled at that. _For a metal and punk enthusiast, Jack's quite the cinnamon roll._   
  
"Is this a part time job? Or a full time thing?" the American interrogated, starting the small talk in hopes of prolonging this encounter.   
  
"Part time. I need some extra money to pay for rent at the dorms," the green haired man filled in.   
  
"Dorms?"   
  
"I'm a working student."   
  
"Oh," Mark immediately responded, piecing the puzzle together. It made sense, why Jack looked just about his age.   
  
"I know, I know. It isn't cool ta be some college kid stuck here on weekends," Jack joked lightly, although the red tint in his cheeks displayed his embarrassment.   
  
"No, that's not true. It's actually really amazing you balance school and work like that," the red haired man made sure to reassure the cashier, hopefully taking away whatever shame he had about working part time in a record store.   
  
"Ye think so?"   
  
"Yes. It's cool."   
  
"Thanks, uh..." the cashier hesitated, "what— what's yer name?"   
  
"Mark. Mark Fischbach."   
  
"I'm guessing ye could tell my name's obviously Jack," he motioned for the nametag pinned onto his shirt with a laugh and another one of those cute headshakes.   
  
"Although, I'll let ye in on a secret," Jack added immediately before the American could respond, whispering in a silly manner that made Mark laugh.   
  
"Okay. What is it?"   
  
"My name's actually Seán. I'm Seán McLoughlin, at yer service!"   
  
Mark had to stare at Jack for a minute. This made the blue eyed boy laugh, the sounds of giddy happiness echoing through the shop, the music only slightly overpowering it.   
  
"How'd you get the name Jack?"   
  
"I don't know. It's my nickname, but ye can use whichever name ye prefer," Jack replied, waving a hand to show his nonchalance.   
  
"I think I'll stick to Jack for now," Mark smiled politely at that.   
  
When Jack didn't respond to his comment, Mark immediately took the chance of examining the CDs displayed before him, all having ripped yellow lined pad paper on their covers, messy black marker scribblings and doodles all over, surrounding a giant digit — which is probably the mixtape number — in the middle.   
  
"Don't look at the drawings too closely. They're full of shite," the owner of the mixtapes disrupted the quiet as he observed the man who held onto his CDs.   
  
"I think they add some taste into these mixtapes, honestly. Like album covers of some sort," Mark simply responded, his brown eyes holding wonder as he continued to take in the drawings on Jack's mixtapes.   
  
"Yeah. I guess you could classify them as that."   
  
They _did_ add taste into the mixtapes, though. They gave Mark a feeling of intrigue. The badass skull and crossbones, the random paper airplane, the sloppy looking drumkit, the old school GameBoy console — the way they were arranged on the piece of paper just added a whole new flare into those CDs. It was as if Mark stared into Jack's soul through these arbitrary symbols and drawings.   
  
"I can't wait," the red haired man finally commented, "I really wanna play these."   
  
To that, Jack smiled weakly.   
  
"I mean it," Mark did. Yet somehow, he felt as if boundaries were being overstepped, "Although, if it's an invasion of your privacy—"   
  
"No, no. I offered. You didn't pry," the blue eyed man reassured, "I just gotta warn ye, it has a hint of an Irish metal band with an awful drummer."   
  
"You're _Irish_ and part of a _metal band_ ?"   
  
Jack laughed hard at Mark's genuine shock. His reaction could be deemed priceless.   
  
"Ye I'm Irish. Why do ye think I speak with an accent and have green hair?" the Irishman shook his head at the American's silliness.   
  
"And the band part?"   
  
"I used to be in a band. Obviously not anymore since they're all in Ireland and I'm all the way 'ere."   
  
_Damn. Jack held so much wonder and mystery in him, like little secret easter eggs._   
  
"What were you guys called?"   
  
"Raised to the Ground," Jack said with a hint of pink on his cheeks.   
  
"That sounds so metal."   
  
"Not as creative as System of A Down, Disturbed, or Brompton Cocktail though," the cashier enumerated, clearly listing a few of the many bands he adored.   
  
"Let me guess, I'll find them in your mixtapes too?"   
  
"Yeah, you will. I put plenty of their songs in these. In fact, listen to this!" Jack commented immediately, cranking the volume higher a small bit, nodding his head to the beat, "Down With The Sickness. _Yeah_ . By Disturbed. Great stuff."   
  
"Wow. Great timing."   
  
"I know. That was amazing," the Irishman said with a childlike wonder glinting in his eyes. A childlike wonder Mark admired.   
  
"Any chance I could ever borrow that mixtape playing right now?" the red haired man inquired, wanting the full set of songs that Jack adored.   
  
"Hmm, that depends. I gotta know that I can trust ye to return here with my tapes," the green haired man exclaimed with a raised eyebrow, a look of question directed towards Mark.   
  
"Of course. I'm here every weekend."   
  
"Huh," the Irishman reacted in a casual manner, although his eyebrows creased together in question and thought.   
  
"You probably don't notice me, seeing as you love to zone out and have a finger drumming spree," Mark lightly replied, a sweet smile on his lips as he notices Jack's expression turn from curiosity to abashment.   
  
"Sorry 'bout that. I do get quite lost in my own head around here. It isn't _really_ busy, as ye can tell," Jack spoke, gesturing to the assortment of vinyls and albums that sat untouched.   
  
"Don't apologize for getting lost in the tunes," Mark said with a headshake, "That's something you shouldn't be sorry for. Music is something you embrace — be proud of that."   
  
Jack gave the red haired man a heartwarming smile — he sure knew what he was talking about, "Thanks. Ye sure know what ta say."   
  
"Of course."   
  
"I'd like to think I can trust ye," the green haired man smiled, "Ye can borrow the first mixtape."   
  
Mark beamed at that. He had access to the _complete_ guide to learning the ins and outs of the man with ocean eyes.   
  
"Although," Jack added, "maybe when ye return the second. I have ta play something in here."   
  
"Okay, okay. I'll finish the second one," the red haired man said energetically and enthusiastically, unable to contain his joy.   
  
"Great."   
  
There was a brief pause afterward, both at a loss for words. Mark felt like he's overstayed. Jack felt like he wanted Mark to stay longer. But somehow, both knew the conversation's coming to a close.   
  
That didn't mean the friendship couldn't blossom, though.   
  
"Hey, uh... Mark? This was fun, really, and I'd... I'd like to talk again sometime," the green haired man commented, scratching his arm in agitation.   
  
"Oh yeah. Me too. I'd like that too," the taller man smiled, eyes creasing at the edges in happiness.   
  
Finally, he was _noticed_ . The interesting blue eyed man who lost himself in the music finally acknowledged his presence. All those days feeling invisible were far gone because finally, he's made a connection.   
  
Jack grabbed a marker and a piece yellow lined paper — probably the same one he used for his mixtapes — from beside him, ripping off a tiny piece and scribbling in his digits, before handing them to Mark.   
  
"Just text me. I'll add ye to my contacts later. I can't right now because work," Jack commented as the red haired man grabbed the note from his hands.   
  
"Yeah okay, I understand. I should head out now, though. Still have errands to run," Mark said, hugging the mixtapes to his chest, preparing to leave.   
  
"Sorry to take up yer time," the cashier said, accompanied with another cute headshake.   
  
"It's fine. If anything, I should apologize."   
  
That made Jack laugh.   
  
"So... Next week?"   
  
"Yeah. Bring back the tapes."   
  
"Will do," was the brown eyed man's last remark before he left the record store, the metal music fading away as he walked further, a smile permanently plastered on his face because he knew he had next weekend to look forward to.   
  
He knew he had made a friend in a certain metal-loving Irishman. He knew he was no longer invisible to the blue eyed cashier. He knew that he had all the precious tracks in the mixtapes to get lost in.   
  
And although Mark didn't like metal, or punk, or rock, it didn't mean he didn't like the green haired cashier who did.   
  
And for him, he'd listen to the tunes. For him, he'd listen to the music. And he'll close his eyes, letting the beat consume him as he imagines those bright blue beautiful eyes. He'll get lost in the songs, just like Jack did, finger drumming and head bobbing to the rhythm. 

**Author's Note:**

> FACTS ABOUT THIS FANFIC (feel free not to read):
> 
> If you guys haven't noticed by the title, this was inspired by the song Lost In Stereo by none other than All Time Low. Great job to everyone who had known, you have gained my respect.
> 
> If you thought it was inspired by Twenty One Pilots' Tear In My Heart due to that one lyric in the summary, well... you're wrong. I just used it because it fits the idea of this story perfectly.
> 
> The bands Jack likes here are actual bands I deduced he likes based on his videos. I don't memorize specifically which videos, I just remember him either mentioning said band, singing one of their songs in between his gameplay, or maybe playing a drum cover. I dunno exactly since my memory's been clouded with trouble, but just know his infatuation for these bands is real.
> 
> Green Day makes an appearance just because I like them. Nothing to do with Markimoo.


End file.
